Students' Self-goal

Setting: Ramsaday College, Amta. 1962.

Under the leadership of the students’ union, about 100 students gheraoed Prof. Santosh Das, the Principal of the college. Prof Das was an eminent scholar in history and economics. Among his many scholarly treaties is Education of the Ancient Indian Hindus, published as early as in 1933, one of the best and most authentic books on the subject.

Students gheraoed him because Prof. Das refused to conceded on their demand, which according to Prof. Das was against the interest of the college.

It was middle of September, about 12 noon. Prof. Das should be about 59, then. Students were shouting slogans, banging the table of Prof Das while he was seated on the chair. Some were dancing behind him. Some sat on the window blocking air and the light. Prof. Das was, at least apparently, unperturbed. He was working on the files. The students blocked the entry of the files. Then stopped entry of teaching and non-teaching staff to principal’s office. They also stopped Prof Das going out for lunch, and even to the toilet. The students pinned him down to the chair. After a mild effort to get up when he realized that students do not want him to even move, Prof Das quietly sat down.

As entry of everyone in the college was stopped by the slogans shouting students, Prof Das took to reading books. As an onlooker into the whole episode, many of us were surprised to see the concentration with which he could read, by turning of the pages, and the calmness that spread all over his face.

The sun started going down on the west; western sky was painted with cool red. The pitch of the slogans steadily reduced; students were visibly tired. Prof Das called Indrajit, the leader of the union and said, “All of you look tired. Why don't you go, eat some food and comeback.”

A student from behind retorted, “Principal is trying to befool us. He will escape the moment we go for food.”

Prof Das was as cool as ever. He said, “I'll be the last one to leave the college today. You know, I was a freedom fighter. We spent many days walking on our stomach without food. I am old, but some of my capabilities are still intact. If you still have doubt, 50 of you can go and have food, and 50 can be here ensuring that I do not escape. When the first batch comes back, and stay here the second batch can go and have their food and comeback.”

Indrajit understood the sincerity of the principal. He suggested that food be brought here and principal also shares. “Sir, you must also be hungry.”

These disturbed Prof Das for the first time. He said, “You have gheraoed me and stopped my movement to punish me. My taking food will defeat your purpose. Your agenda of punishing your principal will not be met. I don’t want your defeat. More than that, you know that the tiger never eats when it is in chains. I shall eat only when I am free and go back home.”

As a prestige issue, the students also decided to go without food.

Sun had already set in some time ago. It was dark all around except one low power bulb in principal’s office. There was a dead silence; students were tired. They had all spread out on the floor stretching their tired legs. Prof Das was engrossed in his reading. Seemed to have forgotten that he was in chains. The clock in the room ticked in – 7.30, 8 o'clock, 8.30, nine o'clock 10 o'clock 11 o'clock …..

All of a sudden, Prof Das stood up and raised his voice, drawing attention of the students outside the window and to the approach road to the college. He shouted, “This must be police jeep. You must stop it outside. If police enters my college and if I'm alive tomorrow, I shall rusticate all of you whose face I have seen today in my room.”

Indrajit said, “Sir, police is coming to rescue you from the gherao.”

Prof Das retorted back, “if I had to be rescued by the police from my own students, I have no right to exist in this earth, and be called a ‘teacher’. If you want yourselves safe, please go and stop the jeep outside the college and ask them to go back.”

Students rushed out, and just managed to stop the jeep outside the gate. The police team went back. Students were clueless. They were really in a Catch-22 situation. If they withdraw the gherao they get defeated, if they do not it seems to be an endless process.

There was a commotion in the small township that Amta was. It was half past midnight. A gentleman appeared on the scene, and asked for permission to see Prof Das. Prof. Das refused to receive any guest at this odd hour. Students pleaded with him to allow the guest to come in. Reluctantly, Prof Das agreed. The guest was none other than the local Station House Officer (SHO), but in civil dress. Before Prof Das could utter a word, the SHO introduced himself as a local resident, and not the SHO. He said, ‘I have come at the request and insistence of citizens of the locality and not as a police officer’. He appealed, “I have something to say, Sir.”

Prof Das intently looked at him. He said, “Sir, please forgive them and let them go home. It’s past midnight, please go home and relax.”

Prof Das smiled after a long ordeal, “how can I let them go home? It is they who have gheraoed me; I have not gheraoed them or ordered them to be here. They had to decide themselves to be here or to go. I have no role. If they go home, I will also go home.”

The Officer turned towards Indrajit and told him to ask the boys to go home. Indrajit asked his followers to go back. They were literally waiting. So relieved, they were. Quietly they started walking back to their homes.

Prof Das was still sitting on his chair. Indrajit came personally along with the SHO, and requested him to get up and go home. Prof Das obliged. As he started walking out, SHO offered to escort him home ‘because it was late the night’. Prof Das refused; he insisted that only his ‘students can escort him home’. Indrajit thanked the SHO and asked him to return home, as he himself took charge of escorting Prof. Das.

Indrajit along with four boys rang the calling bell at Prof Das’ residence. As Mrs. Das opened the door, students touched the feet of Prof Das and turned back, Mrs. Das called back, ‘Indra, all of you must be very tired, hungry and thirsty. Please come in, have a glass of water and then go’. Indra stopped at the door way as Mrs. Das called out to Mani, her daughter who is also one of the college students. Mani brought a plateful of Rasgullas (favourite sweets of Bengal) and water for everyone. As obedient school children, they shared sweets and drank water to their hearts’ content. Before leaving, all of them bent down to touch the feet of Prof. and Mrs. Das; looked at Mani with a smile with unexplained apologies for the day-long torment on the family. Prof. and Mrs. Das went inside when Mani stood on the doorway seeing off her college mates till they all disappeared in the darkness.

An Ode to a Nurse

I was in South Africa to address an international gathering on reforms in rural education. But before the event, I landed up into a hospital in unconscious condition. I lost my sense almost within half an hour of reaching the hotel room from the airport in the noon due to excessive blood vomiting. I understand that I remained in that state till early morning next day; more than 12 hours. Only on regaining consciousness, I realized the time, that I was in a hospital and that too in South Africa, my first and only hospitalization in more than 50 years of my physical existence.

At about 10 in the morning, a black woman nurse in late 30’s or early 40’s in uniform came to my bed with a towel and a container full of warm water. She told me that on doctor’s advise she was going to give a sponge to me and she's going to take off my clothes. I was quite scared. I don’t know in what condition I was brought to the hospital. I was dressed up by the hotel staff in the unconscious condition and brought to the hospital. My weakness was so much that my hands were immobile to even check; equally insensitive was my body to make it out otherwise. With my feeble voice, I resisted her, “Sister, I don't think I'm putting on any undergarments.” The nurse said with a disarming smile, “so what, I'm your sister”.

Without hesitation, she put her hand at my back and softly put me up; she took off my kurta. Then she pulled out the string of my pyjama. With extreme care, she slowly turned me left and right, and pulled off the pyjama. I was without a thread on myself. She started mopping me with utmost care, and softness. By the time she finished my face and mopping my neck, several decades were drained out of my life bringing me back to my sixth year when my real sisters used to give bath in the open in our village home with the same tender care, softness and love. I was nostaligically absorbed in bathing in my sixth year at the hands of my sister. Literally forgot the reality and lived few beautiful moments in the land of dreams. I woke-up only when the nurse started putting on my pyjama back. She dressed me up, combed my hair and put me back into the reclining position since I was already very tired. After a while, she was back with my lunch, some soft soup like thing.

I struggled to reach out to take the lunch. She said, “no-no, just sit up for a few minutes. I'm going to feed you today.” She started feeding me with a spoon reminding me not of my childhood- not the sick days, but my craze for indulgence of my sisters to be fed. It is at this stage, I told her, “I guess, now, I know why people call nurses as Sisters.” She reciprocated with her beautiful smile – bright white teeth at the backdrop of glowing dark skin spread a ray of hope in me.

I was to be relieved next day. When my papers were ready, a hefty young man came with a wheel-chair and helped me getting into it. Before he could lay his hands on the handle, the sister appeared from nowhere. She told him, “don’t bother. I’ll take him to his car”. The attendant persuaded her; it was his duty to take the patients out. She told him, “He is my brother, let me have the pleasure of taking him to the car and see him off.” The ward boy could not make out. ‘May be, he was confused about our relationships because of my own complexion. She pushed the wheel-chair with great care not to give me any jerk, and brought it to the car and helped me inside.

Instead of saying ‘bye’ which is common in this part of the world, she asked me the most difficult question, I have ever faced on this earth, “are you leaving your sister behind? Won’t you take me home with you?”

I had no answer; tears rolled down my cheek. As I looked through my moist eyes, she reciprocated with tear-pearls on her beautiful dark cheeks. The car rolled out.